Blue Hair, Wood Oar
by CharcoalSama
Summary: This is a Botan fic, about what she WAS like, why she became a Grim Reaper, stuff like that. She's going to seem a bit OOC at first, but she'll get better, don't worry. R'n'R, please! Flames welcome.


Okay, Botan is going to seem WAY OOC for a while here, but she'll be back to her wacky self eventually. Just bear with the story, k? Thanks!

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho, but I tape the episodes, and those are MINE!

Chapter one.

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"Mommy, why are they all laughing at me?"

"They aren't used to people who don't look like them."

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My life has been a living hell.

Most of Botan's thoughts were like that. Between her ghostly appearance, and her blue hair, no one seemed to think that, maybe, she was just like them on the inside.

After her mother died while she was still little, no one had the courage to take the jokes and riddiculings of the others, not even her own father. He shunned her, calling her the "Devil's Child". Of course, it might have been true. No one else in the world had her shimmering blue hair. If she wasn't such a good worker, she would have been sent to an orphanage, or, even worse, mines or labor work like that. Even so, her pay was meager, and her bedroom was even worse.

All in all, her insides ate at her like fire, while outside she kept up the standard, overly-cheerful outlook her father wanted.

To her, he was still her father, even if she wasn't his daughter. Only some strange girl with even stranger looks.

More than once, she thought, 'Wouldn't it be better to just die?', and each time she considered it deeply. For that purpose, she kept a small wakizashi hidden under her bed, just in case. But, somehow, something kept her going, not letting her commit suicide.

She beamed at the last of the people leaving the small inn, flashing yet another bright smile. People were muttering about her again. She didn't care. Her cheeks were almost permentantly in a smile, so her cheek muscles always ached by the time she went to bed.

As she headed up the stairs, dropping the almost-mask she wore all day, the last visitors, holding sake bottles, looked at each other. "She's not such a bad one," an elderly, overweight man said, his face flushed red with the drink. "While her hair's strange, she's always kind to us, and keeps that bright smile."

The other chuckled. "If only she knew if for herself," the teenage boy said, helping his grandfather to his feet, "what a wonderful person she could be."

Unfortunately for her, Botan did not hear a word of this. She was upstairs, curled up with her small knife.

When she awoke the next morning, she discovered a large knife-shaped bruise on her arm. Lifting it, she found her wakizashi, still on her cot. "Guess I forgot to put it away again," she muttered to herself. "At least it wasn't open."

Taking her month's savings, she went down into the town. Most people knew her by then, her blue hair an obvious stand-out in the crowd, her smile a not-quite-so obvious one. She had a place she wanted to go in mind.

The door creaked open slowly, into a dusty shop filled with antiques and various objects. Although it wasn't much, the girl had been saving her money for this one thing.

Or two things, actually. "How may I help you?" an old woman nearly as dusty as the shop said, coming up to her. "I am here to help you. How may I help you?"

Botan shook her head, getting rid of the cobwebs in her wretched hair. "I'd like that, please," she said quietly, pointing to a pile of wood in the corner.

The lady gasped. "Are you sure, deary?" she asked, her voice shaking in-what? Fear? Tension? Something else entirely? "While it's one of a kind, I'm sure you don't really..."

"Want it?" Botan shook her blue head fiercly, nearly losing the mask-like smile. "I've always wanted it. I mean, it's plain and old and all, but it just seems so..." She fingered it gingerly, searching for the right word. "Perfect."

The lady shook her head, smiling slightly. She shook out her old, browned kimono, and stepped behind the desk. "You know how much it is." Strangely enough, the girl did. She took out the yen from the pocket of her kimono, and gave it to the old woman. "Thank you."

The girl stepped outside, feeling strangely happy. The long package was in her hand, held like a staff. She nearly skipped away, feeling elated for the first time in too many years.

The elderly woman smiled. "Okay, I'm ready," she said, to no one in particular.

And if anyone had been looking inside the old, dusty shop just then, they would have seen a hand, human-like, but intangible as nothing human ever could be, reached down, and scooped up the old lady, leaving behind only a small pile of dust.

PLEASE R 'n' R!


End file.
